Page 63 of Love, Literature, and the Linebacker

“The dinner!” Lucy gasps, eyes widening. “I forgot.”

She laughs softly at herself as she hops off the bed, moving quickly now, a little breathless, a little dazed. She pulls a sleek black dress from her closet and slips into it with practiced ease, smoothing it down as if steadying herself again. When she runs her fingers through her curls, she’s glowing—soft, radiant, undeniably herself.

Lucy grabs her purse and coat, her movements slightly hurried, as if she’s still catching up to herself.

“Come here,” I say quietly.

She pauses, then steps into my arms. I pull her close, holding her against my chest, letting her feel the steadiness there. “Lucy… I think I’m falling for you,” I whisper, the words slipping out without hesitation, heavy with truth.

Her expression changes so quickly that I know the words reached somewhere deep. “Really?”

“Really.”

Her eyes shine, but her smile is immediate. “I think I’m falling for you, too, Dylan.”

“This is a happy tear, right?” I brush it away gently.

She laughs softly and nods. “Yes. Happy tears.”

I kiss her then—deep and unguarded—pouring everything I feel into it.

***

Twenty minutes later, we’re standing in front of Mason’s with its bright windows and polished brass. Through the glass, I see Coach at a corner table with a man in a charcoal suit.

Lucy slips her hand into mine.

I have spent years preparing to walk into this room.

I never expected the most important part would be deciding who I wanted beside me when I did.

Chapter Fifteen

Lucy

He’s falling for me.

The admission follows us into Mason’s Steakhouse, changing the pressure of his hand around mine and the space between every breath. I said it back, but my thoughts are still catching up to the conviction in my voice.

We’re not in love yet.

But for the first time, I can see exactly where we’re going.

It’s not as if this came out of nowhere. We’ve been building toward it. The quiet moments, the shared laughter, the long conversations that stretched late into the night. But hearing the words out loud, saying them back, changed something. It snapped everything into focus.

This is really happening.

Dylan squeezes my hand, and I glance up at him just as the hostess finishes seating the group ahead of us. There’s a flicker of nerves in his smile, subtle but unmistakable. He looks confident on the field, unshakable under stadium lights, but tonight matters in a different way.

I lean into him as he slides an arm around my waist, pulling me close.

“You’re going to do great tonight,” I whisper, believing it completely. Believing in him.

He dips his head and kisses my forehead, lingering a second longer than necessary.

“I’m proud of you,” I say softly, the words slipping out without hesitation.

He looks down at me, his expression open and sincere.